and then some
by frozen watermelons
Summary: so stalking people must be a really great way of spending your free time, huh? -—emma/killian; coffeeshop!au; crack(ish); drabble series.
1. i

**notes:** sometimes, i just wanna write some fluff and some gooey romantic comedy to keep me sane. i regret nothing. and of course it's captain swan because cs never fails to give me all the unwanted feels. also, this is mostly crack and, uh, i've never written anything like this, so no judging...actually, do judge (**_please_**) because i wanna hear what you think.

**more notes:** brb. i'll probably regret posting this when i wake up tomorrow, but screw it, i'm so tired and it's like, 3 am, so whatever. also: you guys should probably know that I haven't written anything decent in like, over a month so i don't know if this is any good. i've been sick for weeks and i worked on this for hours, so, um, some reviews and constructive criticism would be lovely.

**even more notes:** to those who are wondering, _'the five times'_ is currently on hold. sorry guys but i'm having a hard time finishing it. i might even take the whole thing down and rewrite everything because i just re-read it earlier and i didn't like it. at all. (have you ever read something you wrote a long time ago and just ugh sddhshsgd).

**summary:** in which Emma is late for work and the barista's right hand is _missing_.

**dedication:** to the wonderful ouat fandom and to all the lovey captain swan shippers, to my readers and to my brother, who inspired this story (even though he won't see this): you are so retarded that you become brilliant sometimes. i lurve ya bro.

**disclaimer:** i don't own ouat or anything the reader recognizes such as: the bird and the bee, starbucks and killian jones (_dammit_).

* * *

**_and then some_**

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.

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you're so stupid and perfect

and stupid and perfect

i hate you, i want you

i hate you, i hate you, oh

again, again, again, again

**- the bird & the bee**

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Emma Swan hates waiting.

Specifically, she hates waiting in line.

Like, she hates it; she literally _loathes_ it because it makes her late for work and late for a lot of stuff. She hates it more than she hates those incredibly annoying pricks who wake her up in the middle of the night because they're messing around in the town cemetery when they're _obviously not supposed to_ and all she can do is make her way over there because her boss told her to and it's kind of her job. Or those stupid assholes during movies, the ones who don't understand that movies aren't supposed to be dubbed over by the audience while watching it because there's other people watching with them, people who don't appreciate them being annoying motherfuckers, especially when the movie is really good and they just have to ruin the whole thing with their stupid talking.

And yet, here she is, standing in line for almost forty-five minutes now in the only Starbucks in Storybrooke (_seriously_) and she's so late for work, but still, it is only Tuesday, after all and she can't go to work without her daily dose of caffeine, so it's not like she has a choice.

And to make things worse, her (incredibly hot) boss―who is also the town sheriff―just sent her a snarky text telling her to get over at the station because she's doing all the paperwork today and she thinks _why, why, why me_ and also, there's this _one_ woman in front of her who (for the past_ thirty minutes_ now) still can't decide if she wants a cookie or a slice of chocolate cake and Emma is trying not to wring her hands impatiently (and she's currently failing) and she's _this_ close to banging her head on the counter because hello, this is Starbucks and no one comes here for the food. Seriously.

And then it's (_finally_) Emma's turn, and so she gives a little 'sup nod to the guy at the counter and he smirks back and she rolls her eyes as she orders her daily dose of caffeine and it's all going fine until―

Until she notices that his hand―his fucking right hand is fucking missing and she almost takes a step back in surprise and she thinks:_ wow_, like, that isn't natural. At all. It's far from normal.

So she just kinda stares and he stares back and she doesn't fail to notice: how his eyes are curving up and how there's a wide smirk on his lips so she scowls at him. He grins, then he winks at her and it feels inappropriate for all sorts of reasons.

"It's rude to stare," he drawls, the corner of his lips turning upward (and no, she does not find it attractive _goddammit_ and―

_wait,_ is that―is that _eyeliner?_)

Also, he had an accent. Wonderful.

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head. "I just―"

"Can I get your name, love?"

(Did he―did he just cut her off?)

"Emma," she grits out, a frown marring her face as she watches him.

He writes it down on the cup and reads her order, which she nods in approval and then, _yay_, it's back to waiting. When she receives her cup, she notices something weird and she realizes that there's some writing scribbled messily on the little brown cardboard cup sleeve, and funny, 'cause it looks suspiciously like a phone number. Emma glances back at the counter, back at the guy with the one hand, and she sees that he's busy making someone else's coffee but she doesn't miss the flirty little smile her gives her as he winks.

She rolls her eyes a little exaggeratedly and makes sure he's watching as she pointedly crumples the (innocent) cup sleeve and lets it drop into the trash. Her victory is short-lived though, because when she lifts the cup to her lips, she sees a few things that makes her lip twitch and the victorious smile drop from her face.

Written where her name is supposed to be are the words: call me―_seriously, what the__ fuck__, dude―_followed by a carefully drawn smiley face and another phone number.

She whips her head back to the counter and gives the guy one of her withering glares. But instead of having the decency to look away, he _smirks_ at her―actually _smirks_ and even waves a little bit. She seethes because she's like, late for work and there's probably gonna be a huge pile of paperwork in her desk by the time she gets to the station (and_ of course_ her current annoyance has absolutely nothing to do with the incredibly hot guy at the counter. nope. not at all). Still though, when she walks out of the coffee shop with her coffee in hand, she finds that she can't seem to stop the smile threatening to spill from her lips.

(and yeah, she kinda hates the guy already).

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.

.

(yeah, maybe not so much).


	2. ii

**notes:** i really wasn't feeling this one, but ugh, i promise the next chapter's gonna be a lot better. also, lots of sassy!emma.

**more notes:** no, there is no curse involved; yes, emma just moved to town; yes, killian is missing a hand; no, graham is not dead because i can't ever not have him around (a little scruff is always good thing, no?) and yes, i do take prompts, although i'll decide when i'm gonna use them.

**warning/s:** obligatory language warning before i get more complaints from people who are offended. i curse. quite a lot (just ask my friends). my characters curse. quite a lot too. if you don't like it, don't read it.

**dedication:** to my reviewers― you guys are awesome, btw-and as always, for misciel, my idiot best friend. how's new zealand?

**summary:** she doesn't care if it's pretty―she is seriously contemplating breaking his face with three boxes of cereal.

**disclaimer:** standard one applies.

* * *

_._

_._

_._

_and then some_

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i want you, yeah i want you bad

so bad i can't think straight

so bad all my bones shake

so bad i can't breathe

i want you so bad i can't breathe.

**― ok go**

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"I didn't expect to see you here".

Emma winces, her hand freezing in mid air for a moment before she lets it drop to her side. Slowly she turns to the _rude_ voice, narrowing her eyes at the guy with the one hand because yeah, she's still kind of annoyed at what happened at Starbucks the other day and _seriously_ he couldn't be _not_ attractive?

"Yeah, _no_," she deadpans. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else".

She sighs, one hand wheeling her cart towards the soap section; a frown marring her face, boots dragging slowly across the linoleum floor as she surveys her list with the other. The chink in her neck was back, an her feet were beginning to ache. And if she didn't get home soon, she wondered if she would still be able to remove her pencil skirt or if the stupid thing would just infuse itself into her damn legs.

It wasn't that she didn't like shopping, because she did―especially grocery shopping. There something oddly calming about picking up items that were-and weren't―on her list.

What Emma didn't like was feeling stressed out while grocery shopping. Especially not with the looming knowledge that there was an extremely annoying guy stalking her. He'd been following her for like, the past three hours now and she's been trying to lose him in the grocery story for the last two and a half hours.

Unfortunately though, it doesn't seem to be working out too well for her because said stalker seems to be the persistent type. He catches up easily.

"You're such delightful little thing," he drawls, the corners of his lips kicking up as he matches her strides with his own loping gait.

"Ugh," Emma grumbles, reaching for three boxes of cereal, crossing off more items on her list. "Go away―".

"So, do you still have my number?"

(―did he just _ignore_ her? and did he―did he just cut her off?_ again?_)

He's standing there, leaning lightly on the shelf with obviously no intention of leaving, dark eyes shining deviously; his grin is too charming and all teeth and it's definitely feral. And yeah, he totally ignored her. That asshole. _Ugh._

"No," she says bluntly.

Although she'd never admit it, she'd already memorized the seven digits and she curses her _(astounding)_ ability to memorize things so quickly―and so_ unwillingly_.

"That's a shame," he sighs, a mock-disappointed look on his face. "I was rather hoping we'd keep in touch".

"What makes you think I would have agreed to that?"

He shrugs―with his stupid, stupid shoulders, she adds (she's a sore loser, okay? so screw her).

"Eat lunch with me."

"What."

"Eat lunch with me," he repeats, like she was the slow one here (yeah, okay, she's totally the slow one, but like hell she's admitting that aloud). The bastard actually looks like he's enjoying this.

She shakes her head violently. "No―No, _dude,_ I don't even know your _name_."

Killian," he grins, charmingly boyish and for a moment, she actually forgets her annoyance. "My name is Killian".

"Don't you have work?"

"I'm off today, actually". She snorts at that because yeah, great way to spend your day off: _stalking people._

"Well, I'm busy today," she tells him, dumping the cereal into her cart and turning to face him, narrowing her eyes as she does so. "So that's a no".

"Why not?" He's leaning against the shelves now, arms crossed, one foot crossing over the other.

"Because, Killian," yeah okay, she just got chills from saying his name―_whatever,_ "_firstly,_ I said no".

He opens his mouth as if to say something witty, but his arm bumps into another person's cart as said person walks by, causing him to knock over a few cans of soup and he stumbles. She tries to (unsuccessfully) stifle a laugh and he glares at her. "What are your other points?"

"What?" Emma turns from her list to look at him. "You're still speaking, why?"

He shrugs. "You said 'firstly', so there should be something more you wanted to add to that. 'Secondly' at least, if not 'thirdly' or 'fourthly'. Otherwise, grammatically speaking, the sentence is incomplete," he finishes with an annoying little grin, taking a step towards her and―and―

"_Omigod,_" Emma makes a sound that's somewhere between a whimper and a groan. "My life is so unfair. _Why?_"

"Do I fluster you, Emma?" He takes another step forward, grinning deviously, his thigh pressing against her leg and it's not quite painful, but it's close. She can feel the muscles of his legs tensing through his jeans against hers.

"Why," Emma deadpans, running a hand down her face exasperatedly, trying to move away, "are you even here? In a _grocery store,_ of all places? And do you realize that I can have you arrested for sexual harassment? _Seriously._ I'm not kidding. My boss is the _sheriff,_ and _I_ happen to be his deputy, so really―"

"Then why don't you lock me up yourself?" And then he's crowding her up against the shelves and _OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT THING PRESSING AGAINST HER THIGH OH GOD SHE DID NOT SAY YES TO THIS_―

"I have a rape whistle," she says calmly because she's _not_ panicking. She's a cop for chrissakes. She can totally handle a guy with one hand. "I am thirty seconds away from screaming for help, buster".

Killian's lips are curved up, all entertained and smiling like she is the funniest thing ever and Emma is actually pretty sure she's having a heart attack. "I'm not forcing you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. I'm a gentleman, after all".

"I―what?" Emma blinks, suddenly confused because why...?

"Will you eat lunch with me?"

Oh, she seethes, of course. Of _course_. Emma stares at him for a long beat, contemplating if she should just down him right then and there or punch him in the face. "You are terrible," she tells him instead, very solemnly, but stops struggling.

"Is that a yes?"

"It means," she says, exasperated. "If you let me finish my shopping, you can do whatever you want".

"Wonderful," he steps away from her, grinning rakishly, and of course she doesn't think it's cute―_really,_ she doesn't.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Emma," Killian winks, disappearing with a wide grin and an armful of cereal, leaving Emma wondering about all the possible ways she could get away with murder.

.

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.

―without, y'know, permanently damaging that face of his.

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* * *

**notes:** omg asdfhghfdgfs i have failed you.

(reviews are love).


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